Music of the Light
by TrinJ
Summary: Begins at the last scene of ALW's Phantom - Eric's hands are around Christine's throat as Raoul pleads for her life in return for his. Somehow, they are both spared. A series of events lead to a level playing field for Eric and Raoul. The heartache continues for Christine as she agonises over who she wants. It's only the rest of her life, after all...
1. Chapter 1

Phantom of the Opera

Please bear with me, this is my first fan fic ever and I love Phantom so much I worry that I might ruin it. But I want to give this a go! All rights do not belong to me, I just made up the story and maybe later some characters. Peace and love.

This starts with the last scene of ALW's Phantom from varying points of view.

 _"_ _do you want with me, only free her!" Her foppish lover shouted, reaching a hand forward as if he could break Eric's grasp from around her throat with that one pathetic movement._

 _Eric snarled_

 _"_ _She is mine, she can never be free from me!" Raoul or whatever his ridiculous name was opened his mouth to plead but then his facial expression changed as Eric realised Christine was rather silent for someone who's lover was about to be killed in front of her._

 _Horror seeped through him, cold and fluid as he realised that his grip – gentle at first, only to scare her – had tightened and Christine was on the verge of losing consciousness._

 _Instinctively Eric let go and she crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been cut, her skirts fluttering about her like wings._

 _"_ _Christine!" The Vicomte sprinted forward, apparently forgetting that Eric desired him dead or at least gone._

 _"_ _DO NOT TOUCH HER" he bellowed, shoving the idiot out of the way. Eric scooped Christine up so that her torso rested in his lap, brushing her tangled locks out of her face so she could breathe._

 _"_ _Give me your knife"_

 _"_ _Get your hands off her! Give you my knife? Do you think me a fool?!"_

 _"_ _Yes I do, now quickly so I can get her undressed-"_

 _"_ _YOU MONSTER-"_

 _"_ _SO SHE IS ABLE TO BREATHE YOU FOP!" Roaul could shout, but Eric could shout louder. Too impatient to wait for the boy to get his senses together, Eric knocked the back of his knees so that Roaul fell; dumping Christine face forwards into his startled arms he began clumsily undoing the back of her corset._

My inexperience with women's undergarments may cost her her life _Eric thought darkly. Finally his beloved was free – not showing anything indecent of course, but her corset was undone at the back enough to reveal milky white skin and – more importantly, to allow her breathe._

 _"_ _Get her some water" Eric said, making eye contact with Roaul for the first time. He could be considered handsome if it weren't for his ridiculous clothes._

 _"_ _from where?" Roaul clearly couldn't believe Eric had something so civilised as running water._

 _"_ _Never mind" Eric murmured. Christine's eyes were fluttering. Her throat was red where he had almost killed her…_

 _"_ _She needs a doctor. And to be away from you! You say that you love her and you almost killed her. To stay a moment longer would be insanity". A new voice joined the now somewhat calmer scene._

 _Eric did not need to turn around to recognise the voice nor accent. He knew it was the Persian, and that he would be wearing his unusual hat, with a well-tailored dark suit that seemed non-descript until you saw the lining – purple silk. Eric noticed details such as these from a young age._

 _Back to the matter at hand._

 _"_ _I cannot disagree with you Daroga, but I will not be handing her over to this fool"_

 _Roaul made noises to protest but Christine stirred again and Eric became conscious for the first time that he still was not wearing his mask._

 _Self consciousness and anxiety gripped his throat like a vice._

 _"_ _Fine. Take her" he choked, a hand over his deformity, and then scampered away to his room, his threats forgotten._

 _Christine's eyes fluttered. Raoul stirred from the hunched up position he had been sitting in at her bedside in the Persian's apartment. The Daroga had insisted they stay there to pacify Eric, who he was extremely concerned about._

 _"_ _It's just not like him to let someone go like that…and someone so special to him, he is devoted to her…" he had said, pacing by the fire as Raoul pulled a blanket over Christine on a plush chaise-lounge._

 _"_ _Daroga, he almost killed her. Let us make sure she is well before we do anything rash" . The Daroga nodded._

 _Now, hours later, the sun had begun to rise, enough to dimly light the room with a dusky glow._

 _The most beautiful thing on earth, in Raoul's eyes at least, was next to rise. Christine was so light on her feet- being a ballet dancer – that he didn't hear her approach until she was close enough to timidly place her cold hand on his shoulder._

 _"_ _Christine" he whispered, enjoying the feel of her delicate touch but concerned at the bruises that had bloomed on her throat. Tears began to drip from her eyes when she registered that she was in unfamiliar surroundings, and she was likely also in considerable discomfort._

 _"_ _What happened to my corset?" Christine frowned, a crease appearing between her brows. Roaul imagined It would be somewhat alarming to wake up in a strange place with your undergarments tampered with._

 _"_ _The phantom and I loosened It to help you breathe and on the way home I thought it seemed silly to leave it half on so I took it all the way off. It was all very decent, I assure you my love"._

 _"_ _Take me back". Her face was unreadable – back to the opera house?_

 _"_ _I know you want to be in your own bed but you are safer from him here-"_

 _"_ _-No, talk me back to_ him _" she removed her hand from Raoul's shoulder._

 _"_ _Madame, that would not be wise" the Daroga spoke from the doorway. Christine's frown indicated she had indeed been unconscious when he arrived on the scene last night._

 _"_ _Welcome to my apartment. I am…well it matters not. Most people just call me the Persian. My accent surly implies why this is – but anyway, as I was saying, it would be most unwise to return to the Opera house at this time"._

 _"_ _And why should that be Sir?" Christine drew herself up to full height, wincing audibly when it stretched her sore neck. She was starting to get into one of her stubborn moods, Raoul mused, brushing at the stubble that had formed on his face._

 _The daroga and Raoul exchanged a glance. She would find out soon enough._

 _"_ _Because it is on fire"._

 _Christine held the back of a chair – or something, she did not care what it was – for support. Fire. The opera house – her home since her father had perished – was on fire._

 _What if her angel was still inside?! And Meg, and Madame Giry! Her only friends in the world – except Raoul, who had lost her confidence since he had removed her corset without her consent, betrothed or not. She had to see if she could help put out the fire, or repair damage, or get people to safety…_

 _"_ _Where on earth are you going?!" Raoul's indignant voice followed her as she passed the Daroga out of the doorway of what appeared to be a sparsely but tastefully decorated reception room._

 _She wandered down a hallway, the Persian slowly persuing her with a curious look on his face._

 _"_ _Would you like a tour of my apartment?" He asked, in a friendly mocking tone not unlike that of her phantom._

 _"_ _No thank you monsieur, I should just like to find the exit" she retorted, not looking at him but searching for a door that might take her to the outside world._

 _A tall man, about as dark in skin tone as the Persian approached her holding a dress that looked to be one of her size, and what appeared to be her corset._

 _"_ _Ah Miss, these must be for you? I am Darius – We can become acquainted another time.." Blushing furiously Christine took the garments for him and marched back to the lounge to change._

 _"_ _Get out" she spat at Raoul. He appeared shocked at her tone, standing and leaving without question._

 _Dressing as best she could without help – which meant poorly, as her corset laced in the back, but her visit to the opera house could need her to bend and lift, so a tight corset would do her no favours. This reassuring her, and the fact that her waist was in good proportion to the rest of her anyway, Christine took a moment to glace in a small mirror._

 _Ah._

 _Her throat looked a lot worse than it felt – rest had done her good and she remembered nothing from her state of unconsciousness. How on earth she had ended up in a stranger's apartment in her thin shift under a blanket that smelled like foreign incense she had no idea. How had the phantom been persuaded to release her? Had she really wanted him to?_

 _By removing the choice from her, she had not had to consider what would happen. She would stay with him, Raoul would live and find someone else to make him happy. Her and her phantom could make music together under the opera house where no one could hurt or judge them._

 _But she would miss Meg and the outside world – the feel of wind on her check, people's laughter in the streets at a joke she could not hear. Picking flowers and listening to buskers – violinists touched her heart when they had talent, as their scruffy clothes paired with the purity of their music brought her father to mind._

 _She still may not have to choose where her life would go. As her beloved home and workplace may be in ashes._

 _Throwing open the door and marching back to the hallway, Raoul grabbed her arm._

 _"_ _Get your hands off me! I am not yours to command!" She tried to wrench her arm back but he held fast, his nails beginning to bite her flesh._

 _"_ _I am not him. I do not seek to control you Christine, I just want you to be safe! I care for your wellbeing!"_

 _"_ _If you care for my wellbeing then you will let me go! I will go mad if I do not help in some way, my friends are there-"  
"Your phantom is there. You are going back to him!" Raoul spat jealously. _

_Christine barely noted the swing of her hand, nor the feeling when it connected with his face. But she heard the slap and saw the shocked look in her fiancés eyes. She did not linger to hear what he had to say but whirled on the spot with the grace of a dancer and left through a door she had observed Darius walking through, and onto the street._

 _What would await her?_


	2. Chapter 2

AN I decided to pretend that the Phantom didn't have a piano but an organ because it seems more plausible that he could sneak down the parts to build a piano than an organ. Don't hate me! any feedback would be hugely appreciated. Thanks!

 _Eric knew there would be repercussions for his squashing out the life of that disgusting Bouquet man. But after his beloved had left, her bare white throat reddened from his hateful rage, he believed that nothing could hurt more. But he was wrong._

 _Setting traps only got him so far in this situation - there were only so many men who could fall for the same trap. Eventually about ten managed to filter through, by which time Eric was in another chamber, below his usual living quarters, with some of his smaller instruments, rare herbs and spices and other collections that he could not bare to part with - his compositions, though they meant nothing without his angel to sing them - some half finished sketches of Christine, diagrams of new traps and so on. He had told himself he would not watch from behind the small iron grate, which was at his eye level In the secret chamber, looking out to the floor level of the rooms above. But it was near impossible to hear each crash and thud wondering which of his prized possessions had been decimated this time._

 _The piano was the worst. It was like a piece of his soul – he had spent years of his life at that piano, surely by now. And Christine had sung with him there, and he had composed for her there. She had ripped of his mask there and cowered while he raged at her._

 _The piano was set alight along with some of the compositions Eric had left behind – Don Juan among them. It deserved to burn. The audience was clearly not ready for the passion he had needed to realise, the artful manipulation the characters perform in order to be rewarded with flesh, the chaotic score was ahead of its time. It could burn._

 _"His masks!" A deep voice shouted._

 _"Smash them, burn them all" was the reply. Eric cringed. He now had only the one upon his face left. The white half face mask was fine for day to day business but he could not sleep in it – a black piece of silk was what he preferred to wear about his home and to sleep in. He would previously go about unmasked but if the mood struck, he would smash mirrors and hurt himself. And, as he had planned for Christine to reside here, she would want to see her face. Who wouldn't want to see her beautiful pale face, gently sloping nose and pink lips, with heavily lidded bright eyes, and brows that creased in the middle when she was being stubborn._

 _Another smashing sound roused Eric from his daydreams of caressing her slender white neck. Ah his glass side table. The things the mob – what was left of it after they made their way through his traps – had set alight were starting to really catch now, and were beginning to pose a danger. They went into a frenzy, determined to destroy as much as possible before they had to leave, or else face being engulfed in flames. They ransacked his room – what little there was in there, and then they went into the chamber designed for Christine._

 _A single tear ran down Eric's cheek as one of the men pulled out the wedding gown he had crafted for her. It was simply cut, with silks and lace throughout, perfectly tailored to her measurements which he had stolen from the costume department. There was a day gown for her too – just a simple dark blue with cream embroidery._

 _"Wonder who's this is then?" One lad pondered. Then he plunged his knife into the bodice ,and Eric swore he could feel it in his heart. He could watch no more. He would wait for them to leave, extinguish the flames and plan how to make out that he had fled – for he would not leave his home. Not for anything._

 _Not doubting for a second that Raoul and that interfering Persian would soon be on her heels, Christine launched herself in the general direction of the Opera house and tried to ignore the stares her bruised throat inspired._

 _On arrival, she threw open the opera house doors. There was no sign of fire, just a smell of smoke and a general air of worry amongst the few staff that were inside. There were tendrils of smoke rising like tentacles from some of the grates that she knew connected down to her Phantom's lair – they were how he could hear her sing, and probably helped him throw his voice when he wanted to scare the managers._

 _On the way to her dressing room, Christine saw no one she knew. A few stage hands that she did not recognise nodded at her, barely noticing her throat's bruising._

 _ON entering her dressing room, Christine found a scarf and put it on, tucking the ends into the bodice of her dress so they would not get caught on something if she needed to do anything physical like lifting wreckage. The thought of her phantom lying burned, or beaten, or dead made her feel sick to her stomach; she hadn't eaten since before yesterday's show, and the acidity made her uneasy._

 _Ready as she would ever be, Christine turned to open the mirror door and was horrified to see it had been smashed._ It's just a mirror, _she told herself,_ No need to be upset. You have a job to do. _But it had been the door between their two worlds, her Phantom and her. Down there was music and his volatile temper and friendship of sorts, a guiding hand, an angel. And on the other side of the door, the harsh realities of the opera house, stage hands with wandering gazes and hours of ballet practice and incompetent managers. And Raoul…_

 _The thought of her fiancé roused her, as he could not be far behind her. How could she stop his pursuit? Spying her stationary equipment on her dressing table she scrawled a note. That should stop him for a while._

 _Holding the frame for support while she stepped over the glass, Christine knew that her life was in danger. There were traps all along this route, and she had only travelled it with her Phantom, who of course knew where to step. But clearly someone – or many someones had been down here already. The smoke smell was stronger as she descended the stoney slope cautiously. Her fears were confirmed when she glimpsed a pale hand poking out from around the corner._

He's just sleeping _she told herself. Rounding the corner, she saw the face with distant staring eyes, an arrow lodged in his heart and blood everywhere – she took care not to step in it. Avoiding a particularly large puddle of the man's life blood she felt a stone move slightly under her foot and instinctively she collapsed to the floor to avoid whatever it triggered. She landed on top of the body. A_ woosh _of air passed above their heads – hers and her silent companion's. Perhaps so many people had triggered the trap that it was out of arrows? Climbing to her feet Christine noted her hands, face and dress were wet, stained with blood._

 _The contents of her stomach were emptied next to the poor dead man, who she could look at no longer. Crossing herself and praying for the man's soul – although he clearly wanted to hurt her Phantom, else he would not be here – Christine's suspicions were confirmed when she saw that two more bodies were down the hall. These ones were alive, unconscious but weak. They were shorter than the dead man, so the arrows had not met their mark and missed the heart._

 _They were too heavy for Christine, young and fit as she was. But how could she leave them? They were people, with families and friends and.._ And they wanted to hurt your angel _a stern voice in her head reminded her._ They just do not understand him, and they fear what they cannot understand. These men do not deserve to die in a cold wet corridor irrespective of their crimes.

 _Unsure of her task, Christine decided she needed to see if her Phantom was alright. Then they could come and help these poor men together. Although, if they had been attempting to gain access to his lair, he was probably unlikely to help. But surely if she told him that she wished it, he would comply?..._

 _The slope continued, getting harsher and the air becoming colder. A breeze probably carried the chill from the lake. The smoke smell got stronger too and debris was littered here – she was getting closer. The attackers must have smashed things up and fled in a hurry, dropping loot along the way. A small bronze statue here, spices there, a book on-_ oh. Lovely Ladies? That could not be his, he is so kind and gentlemanly. No someone must have brought it with them

 _Christine was struck by how little she knew her teacher. He was a dark and twisted man, she knew. But when his temper abated he was kind and gracious, giving her anything she wanted. She tried to be the same back but he would not let her lift a finger for him. He said that a hideous creature like himself was undeserving of her attention. How wrong he was._

 _More bodies. These ones had been burned, their hands were blackened and singed where they had tried to protect themselves but they were dead nonetheless. Her stomach threatened to empty for a second time, but held fast. Averting her eyes, Christine crossed herself again for these poor people who were so wrong about her friend. If she ever reached him, she would ask him to tell her a safer way to his lair._

 _Could a trap run out of fire? Christine felt foolish and ignorant; she would ask her Phantom to teach her more about the world. At twenty, she still had so much to learn. Some kind of noise brought her to attention and she dropped to the floor. Not in time however, as she smelled the unmistakable scent of burning hair, acrid and cloying._

It's just hair. I would lose it all for my Phantom to be safe _She told herself firmly. She could wear a wig on stage if she had to. If she even had a career anymore – the damage to the opera house seemed minimal but the structure could be weakened by the fires in the basement, though Christine was beginning to suspect that the Daroga had exaggerated. Or perhaps he was poorly informed._

 _She was almost there. She was hurting in places she hadn't noticed before, from throwing herself onto stone floors and from breathing in smoke. Considering she had almost suffocated yesterday, the smoke was not helping her discomfort. It clung to the raw insides of her throat like tiny fish hooks digging into her deeper with each breath._

Almost there, _she thought. She had to keep going, forcing her feet to move, keep moving, one in front of the other. There were no more bodies, so perhaps that meant no more traps? Christine shivered. There was a draft coming from somewhere. A trap door?_

 _Something under one of her feet gave way and she leaped forward, screeching like a banshee in fear, slamming into the rocky floor for a third time. Running water below her indicated she had just escaped a watery grave._

 _How many bodies were being swept along beneath her, floating like glass bottles In a stream? They probably meant as much to her teacher. He clearly had little regard for human life._

So why are you doing this? _The cynical voice was back in her mind. Before all this, before she had met her Phantom in the flesh, she had never been so bitter. What had changed?_

 _Promising that if she lived through this she would fight for a better mindset, Christine hauled herself to her feet, wincing a little and readjusting her scarf once more._

 _She rounded another corner and stopped dead in her tracks – she had expected a much longer journey but here she was. Or was she?_

 _The place before her was barely recognisable. There was the lake, with some floating bits of charred wood that must have been the boat. And that thing over there must have been the piano…And the bookshelf was overturned and had been set alight too, and it was still on fire. Her phantom was no where to be seen. Was he dead?_

 _Cringing at the thought of her teacher being no more, Christine braced herself to see another body. Stomach sloshing like a ship tossed at sea, she wandered around the main room looking for a pair of legs poking from under something or some kind of clue-_

His masks. _The case of masks was open and all of them had been crushed into pieces, and a bottle of ink had been tipped over them. Christine wished her Phantom had not favoured red ink as the effect was rather macabre._

He is not here. That means he must be alive. Do not panic yet. Put out the fires and wait for him to return.

 _And so she began to right the wrongs that the Opera house had done her Phantom, book by ruined book, extinguishing small fires and sweeping up broken glass._

Damn her! How could she do this to him?! _Raoul's gloved hand quivered as he read the note one more time to ensure he had not read incorrectly._

Raoul, _it read._ The Phantom is dead. I have gone with Meg Giry to Lille, to spend some time in the country to help my voice with better air. I will be gone some time. Do not seek me out. I wish to be alone,

Your Christine

 _But she wasn't his Christine. She never would be. She had always been his._ The angel of music sings songs in her head, _thought Raoul bitterly._ He will never leave her alone, in life or in death.

 _Scrunching up the note and throwing it into the tunnel behind the mirror Raoul considered his next move. All he could do was help restore the opera house, commission a new soprano and wait for her to come back. If she came back._

 _Cursing under his breath, he whipped round on his heel, cloak whirling, and stalked towards the manager's office to take his rage out on someone else._

 _He hoped they still had La Carlotta's address._


	3. Chapter 3

**AN hey guys, here is chapter three. Feedback is hugely appreciated! Thanks for reading. Sorry for any mistakes**

 _Eric sighed and added "_ Reupholster Sofa" _to his list. It had been a few hours since the mob had left and he had immediately began surveying the damage, making lists of what he needed to repair and a list of items to replace or materials he would need. He focused on Christine's room first. It gave him peace of mind to know that the most important room, the one that had never and would never be slept in by his beloved, was safe. The wedding dress had been torn but the other day dress had been left alone. The wardrobe was on the floor but after some huffing and puffing it was righted. Eric placed a cloth over the broken mirror and added it to his list. The silver brush and comb set had been looted. The bed had been set on fire, which was now out._

 _He would need a large bag or sack to put ruined things into. He believed there were some heavy duty bags towards the rear of the Opera house. He would walk the main route from Christine's room later to clean up any mess or bodies that had been left there. Wandering through a passage he rarely used, Eric wondered what the future would hold._

 _He had almost killed Christine. He had tainted her beautiful white neck with his unworthy hands. And now he would never see her again. She would marry that fool, and have his children and they would be happy and he would be.._

 _He would just be. Live out his days in his sanctuary with his music. There would never be another worthy of his tutelage nor would he love anyone like he had loved his Christine._

 _A rat scampered past his boot, carrying on with its little busy rodent life. It reminded Eric that he too had a task to complete, no matter how mundane. His sanctuary was all he had left and after the invasion of his privacy he would rebuild it better, more luxurious than ever, with a bigger better piano, more book space – everything bigger and better. For him to enjoy and no one else._

 _On the way to get the sacks, Eric saw no-one. On the way back, he saw no-one. In his lair, there was no-one._

No. _There was someone. She was asleep on the sofa, her dark tresses spilled across her white chest. She wore a scarf and a grey dress with a curious pattern. No, not a pattern…_

Blood.

 _"Christine" he shook her, held her close, then held her at arm's length to find her wounds, shaking her again._

 _"Christine, please" he murmured, moving her hair from her face. A crease formed between her brows as she frowned._

 _"Phantom…"_ She still does not know my real name _Eric thought darkly. She knows nothing of who I am, or what my life has been._

 _"It is not mine"_

 _"What is not yours my sweet?" The blood was not coming off onto him, it was dry. Eric removed the scarf from around her neck – had she applied it to a wound to stop the bleeding?_

 _"The blood is not mine. There are bodies in the tunnels, I fell…" Her eyes finally opened as she spoke and locked onto his. The scarf came off – there were the bruises he had left._

 _"oh Christine what have I done to you-"_

 _"shh. Just hold me Phantom. I was so afraid". She had made her way past all his traps, past dead bodies, crawled on stone floors, to get to him. To ensure his safety. And when she had found him gone, had waited for him to come back._

 _He crushed her small body to him. She smelled of smoke and of burned hair, which he grabbed a lock of to confirm. Yes, two or three inches gone. More would have to be cut to encourage healthy growth. But she was alive._

 _"Come, we will run you a bath…if that has not been destroyed also" he lifted her – her weight a comfort in his arms. Then he put her down again in the same spot. The moment had finally arrived where he could tuck her safely into the bed he had spent months carving and crafting for her, only for it to have been destroyed. All he had for her to recline her cherubic form in was this sofa and his coffin – silk lined or not, the latter would not be appropriate considering her recent brushes with death._

Twice now has she almost died because of you. You do not deserve her presence. _Eric shook his head, as if it would dispel the fog that his self-hatred cast upon his clarity of thinking. She would stay on the sofa then, while he went to run the bath._

 _"Do not move. I will be back momentarily". Eric carried himself with his usual swift grace to the bathroom – which he had not yet investigated following the raid. It had survived untouched. Perhaps they were surprised that a Phantom required a bathroom at all._

 _Grinning, Eric checked himself._ Just because she is here does not mean she is staying. It only means she wished to ensure you were safe.

 _Still, it showed that she cared and the thought cheered Eric up immensely._

 _"Eric?" Christine appeared in the doorway of the bathroom._

 _"I thought I told you not to move, Christine"._

 _She avoided his stern look and longed longingl y at the half full bath, then down at herself. The dried blood was probably stiffening on her skirts._

How she must long to take them off _._

 _"I will leave you to bathe momentarily. I have a clean dress for you". Christine nodded – she did not seem shocked at all. When she had seen the wedding dress for the first time, she had fainted. Was she getting used to Eric's devotion? He hoped so._

 _The water felt incredible on her skin. There were rose petals floating in the bath and Christine tried to ignore the colour the water turned. This would be no leisurely soak – not in another man's blood._

 _The thought made her stomach tip again, but she held. It would not do to vomit in the bath…_

 _The dress Eric had put out for her fit perfectly, of course. It must have been tailored for her. Somehow, this did not feel as invasive as Raoul's removal of her corset in the coach to the foreign stranger's apartment. A shiver shook through her and she glanced at her hands once more. They still stung – she had cut them when she grasped the edges of the broken mirror for support, and had not realised until she had climbed into the balmy water._

 _Her hair was a lost cause – it would take to long to brush out, so she pinned it up roughly and let out the bath water. Exiting the steamy bathroom, she almost bumped into her Phantom._

 _"Is your other dress salvageable?" He inquired, the parts of his face she could see indicating that his eyes were closed._

 _"I am decent, Phantom. I believe the dress is destined for rags. I was wondering.." Christine began, but he interrupted her._

 _Taking her both her hands in one of his, he brushed a lock of her hair out of her face._

 _"I was wondering if you could look at my hands!" She laughed and slowly withdrew them from his. They were still bleeding a little. His eyes widened in horror_

 _"I have hurt you again. Oh Christine I am so sorry-ah" He whipped his face away when she moved to caress it._

He is in so much pain. I wish I could heal him.

 _"Phantom…"_

 _"That is not my name Christine. Please call me Eric" her phantom murmured softly. His mood was indiscernible, his face invisible for the most part._

Will I ever truly know him?

 _"Eric then. I will help you clean up and then…I do not know where I will go" she mused out loud._

 _"What do you mean? You have nowhere to go?" The phantom - Eric -looked horrified._

 _"Christine, what have you done?" He asked warily. She swallowed. What had she done?_

 _Seeing her face, Eric guided her back to the main room and settled her on the sofa, adding a blanket without her even having to ask. He took her slender hand in his larger one, and pulled a candle near._

 _"There appears to be some small pieces of glass stuck. I will fetch my tweezers. And what is this?" He pointed to the red marks Raoul's nails had left on her wrists. Eric's eyes narrowed. Christine braced for one of his moods._

 _"Please excuse me" He choked out. Rising with feline grace, he walked briskly out of the room, his footsteps echoing. Christine waited for the crash of whatever furniture he decided to deliver his rage upon. But there was none. He came striding back, a pair of small tweezers in hand and a basin._

 _"Ph- Eric. Please do not be angry. He did not mean to-" He silenced her with a look._

 _"Do not speak about him in my presence. He hurt you. And why you should come running to a man who hurt you more – almost killed you in fact, is beyond me. But I am glad that you are here. You never need fear me again Christine. You are safe here." Eric's impassioned speech melted her heart. Christine wished that she were made of stone, so that she would not mark so easily, nor feel pain so acutely. For she felt it now, for her phantom. Or her Eric? Was he hers? And who's was she?_

 _"I suppose that I have broken things off with Raoul" she began. Eric did not look at her but began investigating her hand. Christine took it as an invitation to continue explaining._

 _"I told him I was going to the country with Meg Giry. That I needed to think. I do not want to marry him any longer; he seeks to control me. I would have to leave the opera house that I love so dearly…and he would take me from you".  
Something warm and wet hit her hand. _

_"Eric?!" She took his face in the hand he was not holding. He was weeping! Why?!_

 _"What on earth is wrong?!"_

 _"You do not wish to be apart from me?" He asked, his eyes holding her gaze._

 _"No. I do not know how I feel about you. But I know that I am happiest when you are close". Christine had believed all her life that as long as she spoke the truth to everyone, always, that no-one would get hurt. But she was wrong. She had – and probably would – hurt Raoul immensely. And the tight dragging feeling it placed in her chest was pulling her down and down._

 _"You are sad" Eric said sombrely. Christine nodded. Everything was so complicated. Everything was just a big question mark – what would happen? Where would she live? When would she face him, to explain, to give back the ring, to hurt him deeper than she had ever hurt someone before?_

 _"It will be alright. You are safe from danger here. You may stay of course – though all I have to offer you currently is this sofa". Eric looked as though the thought of her sleeping on a lowly sofa greatly disturbed him. It probably did. His devotion to her was touching if a little overwhelming at times._

 _"A sofa is fine Eric. I am grateful for the time to think. Perhaps we could do some singing in the morning?"_

 _"With what piano?" He muttered. Christine worried she had set him off again –but then he laughed._

 _"That is a rare sound. I like your laugh" Christine said._

 _"Ouch!" He pulled out a slender piece of glass an inch long from the meat of her thumb._

 _"If that had broken inside your hand it would have been much more painful my sweet". She nodded. He was right of course, but she was tired of being sore.  
Almost like he had read her mind, Eric put her hands under the blanket on her lap._

 _"I will get you some hot milk- I will add something to help you sleep. Please be still". His voice comforted her – how could it not? She had heard it through the walls as a child, when she cried for her father, or when the other dancers were mean to her. He was her comfort blanket – he would keep her warm and safe._

 _Christine barely finished the warm milk before her eyes began to droop. She vaguely noted a man singing softly to her, and her hair being stroked as she fell asleep, safe and warm._


	4. Chapter 4

_CH4_

 _Carlotta continued bellowing out coloratura notes as she strutted around the stage, now and then gesturing in the direction she knew Raoul to be seated in. He nodded at her now and then, acknowledging the attention she paid to him as the Opera Populaire's patron. But really, he was embarrassed to be in such a position, as her performance tonight had been to her usual standard – poor._

 _Raoul sank lower in his seat. The performance would end in around half an hour and until then, he was determined to let his mind wander anywhere it wanted to drown out the noises coming from the stage. Had his nails been longer and a chalkboard been handy, he would have been happy to provide accompaniment for Carlotta, as the noises would have matched perfectly._

 _As it were, he uncrossed his legs and sat up in his seat having realised that from his vantage point in box 5, he had an excellent view of several women and their delicious milky shoulders and bosoms._

 _Appealing as the view was, however, none of those bosoms belonged to Christine. She had been gone only a few days with Meg Giry – supposedly. Though when Raoul bumped into Meg and asked how her and Christine's trip to the country had been, she merely looked a tad confused then replied that the weather had been lovely and they had done lots of walking together. Raoul had returned her smile and wandered off, feeling a fool. His fiancée had lied to him. Was she even still his fiancée? Did he want her to be? God, he loved her but she was far too wild. His family had told him to expect nothing less from an ex-chorus girl, turned lead soprano. He had thought her vivacity a perfect tonic to the boring life of a vicomte, but perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps someone else would do better on the social side, even if he loved them less._

 _Raoul shook his head. This was madness .He loved her, and he knew she was not where she said she would be. The most simple conclusion was that she was with the Phantom, down in his impenetrable lair. She was probably happy there, where he was not around to stifle her, and where the Phantom encouraged her talents to blossom. Raoul worshipped Christine, but any fool could see that compared to that creep, it was a different kind of love. The man had created a wedding dress for her before she had even set eyes on him! Anyone would faint on discovering something so personal, so invasive. Where had he even found her measurements? The thought of the Phantom's dead eyes roving over Raoul's fiancée was enough to make him stand abruptly, nodding to his companions and leave his seat._

I will not be taken for a fool any longer _he vowed, stalking towards the manager's office in search of parchment and pen. If Christine thought it was fine to run off and leave poorly fabricated lies, then two could play at that. Would she be so eager to leave her Phantom in order to ensure that he was alive?_

 **Eric**

 _His ungloved hand shook with rage. Did the fop not think that he could see straight through these lies? Raoul had sent a note addressed to "monsieur Le Phantom and his companion" to say that he was very sick and was leaving the care of the Opera House to the Phantom and the managers for the time being. Raoul claimed to be leaving for la Touquet in the morning, for the fresh sea air would do his illness good. Eric knew this to be false, and it was clearly to upset Christine and lure her away._

If you tell her about it she will leave, _Eric realised. Or would she? This was clearly something Raoul wondered too. The thought made Eric uneasy. Forcing Christine to chose between them – she would obviously chose Raoul; he could give her the lifestyle she was used to, and she appeared to love him and he her. It would be insanity to chose otherwise._

I will tell her after breakfast. And then she may leave, to go to him and marry him and bear his children and be a good wife to him. _The thought of his beloved bearing another man's children made bile rise to his throat. But Eric's dark thoughts were disturbed by Christine's hand on his shoulder. Eric jumped, having not registered her presence._

 _"You slept well I trust?" He asked, hoping she would bestow on him one of her warm smiles. She did not, however._

 _"What is wrong? Is the sofa not comfortable? Were you cold?"_

 _Christine shook her head._

 _"I slept wonderfully, thank you. I am just thinking about how much we need to do to get your sanctuary back to the way it was". She was thinking of him. Bless her good soul._

 _"There is nothing to worry about. Everything is under control. I just have to await some new materials to rebuild some things, but many I intend to redesign, so it will take some weeks to get the lair to my liking" Eric noted a strand of hair that had escaped the bun she had barely just put in into. But she would cringe away from his touch, no doubt. She had never felt the touch of his hand ungloved and Eric did not wish to alarm her by doing so._

 _She opened her mouth to say something but she was interrupted by her own stomach. Christine looked sheepish.  
"I'm so sorry, excuse my stomach" she murmured, placing a hand there as though it would affect the volume. Eric cursed his own stupidity. Of course she would need food. _

_"The kitchen is this way. When did you last eat my love?" The endearment slipped off his tongue alarmingly easily. He gazed at her reaction but she merely looked thoughtful._

 _"Not since a few hours before the show….please do not be angry with me!"_

 _Eric shut his eyes for a moment, ashamed that his volatile temper made her hesitant to share information with him._ This is why she can never be yours. You are a monster who would only hurt her. Just look at what you did to her _Eric's inner demons taunted. His gaze wandered to her throat – black and blue. Because of him_

 _"I am not angry. I just wish you would take better care of yourself. You matter a great deal to a lot of people" he managed to say, with an even tone of voice. Christine looked surprised at his self control. Amazingly, she placed a hand on his arm in what almost seemed like affection, from the little Eric knew about such a feeling._

 _He was stunned at the realness of it;her touching him, out of choice, with no prompt or threat!_

 _She smiled at him shyly._

 _"…The kitchen?"_

 _"Right. Food. What would you like?" He couldn't think what she would want; porridge? Eggs? Bread and Cheese? Some fruit? What if he didn't have anything she wanted? Eric was not accustomed to popping out to get supplies in broad daylight and he couldn't bear to think of sending Christine out for her own breakfast lest she not return. Or she could get hurt._ Nonsense. She has managed well enough on many a trip into town _he reminded himself sternly. She was not to be caged up here like a nightingale, no matter how much she sounded like one._

 _"Oh something simple. I will have what you are making" Christine seemed excited at the idea of seeing him cook. Or perhaps she was just desperately hungry._

 _"I will make us omelettes then. Is that to your liking?" Eric had made hundreds of omelettes before, he could think of no way in which he could fumble it now._

 _"Of course, chef. Would you like any help?"_

 _"no no, you need to rest. Your hands must be sore. And..your throat too. Oh Christine-" Eric could not speak anymore ,could not bear the shame of what he had done to the woman he loved. Loved was not strong enough a word, he would die for her, he worshipped her, and would do anything to keep her, yet he had hurt her – almost killed her. Because he was no good. There was not a shred of goodness in him. And she was so good that it pained him because he knew it was because of this that they could never be together._

 _"Phantom…Eric" She whispered, her eyes wide with shock._ Another mood swing she was not expecting _he though darkly. He managed to slump into a chair, his masked face in his hands. It was strange to cry in the mask, he could feel the tears leave his eye on the deformed side of his face and trickle down maybe an inch of skin before his face was too numb to feel the rest of the tears' journey._

 _"Please do not cry for me" she crouched next to him, taking his face in her soft, soft hands. Eric closed his eyes. Her touch was pure ecstasy, calming and igniting at the same time._

 _"I hurt you". It was a simple enough statement but difficult to choke out nonetheless._

 _"Yes. You hurt me. Not killed me. I am here, with you. I am not going to run. I forgive you, Eric"._

 **I forgive you, Eric.**

 _The words repeated in his head with every beat of his pounding heart. Before he even had time to absorb them or tell her she was wrong to be so forgiving to such a monster, she pulled him close and touched her lips to his forehead. He could feel her around him, strong and real. He inhaled her familiar scent, her lips still on his head._

 _He was home at last._


	5. Chapter 5

_Ch 5_

 **AN sorry it's taken me so long folks! I have another fan fic on the go (also phantom of the opera, called stuff happens in a modern day setting – check it out if you so desire!) and of course life has taken over as it tends to. Exam season is upon us so my updates are usually happening during the wee hours when people should really be sleeping. Anyhoo, here's a chaptermabob to continue this thingy. Hope you enjoy!**

Eric, _his beloved called._ Eric, what is this? _Eric swore under his breath. In a shaking, gloved hand, Christine held the crumpled up note that the fop had sent –_ her ex-fiance _he thought with relish,- it must have bounced when he had thrown it into the fireplace._

He is sick and you did not see fit to inform me? What if he dies with no explanation from me? How could you keep this to yourself? _Her voice climbed higher with every accusation, each one hitting him like a physical blow._

My sweet, calm down, please! I will explain _Eric gently sat her down in a nearby chaise lounge – a new addition following the fires. His eyes roamed her face, wondering how to explain that he was a jealous cretin and he hoped that Raoul died a painful death._

I believe this note to be a fallacy. He must have interrogated Meg and her failure to provide a solid alibi means that he has correctly deduced that you are currently in my care. I find it unlikely that he is sick at such a convenient time, especially as I have it on good authority that at the past four performances he has been observed staring at the ladies below, and none too covertly!

 _Christine flinched at his harsh words. Why did he do this to her? Allow her to feel comforted by him and then hit her with his words like the lash of a whip? They had grown so close…_

Christine, my angel , I-

No Eric. I needed to know. He has obviously lost interest in me, and that is for the best. I couldn't be the wife he wanted – I am no ornament or play thing. And his family have made it quite clear they want many strong, healthy heirs and since I am small and sickly looking- _her voice sped up throughout her calm, then impassioned speech. IT was his turn to interrupt, putting a gloved finger on her rosy lips._

Shhhh _he crooned._

Let us forget this. I should have given you the note and told you my suspicions of its falsehood immediately. I apologise. Now, we should go above. For you to stay another night here will put your reputation at risk, and we want you singing the lead again as soon as possible, do we not?

 _Christine shook her head, pushing his hand away. Standing swiftly, she walked to the now-replaced mirror above the fireplace and stared at herself in the eyes. She seemed to be deep in thought._

Can I stay?

 _She spoke so quietly Eric believed he had imagined it. But her eyes imploringly waited for an answer; it must have been real._

Stay? With me? Another night? _He could hardly believe his ears. She could not possibly want to stay with him for his company. It was just the cave – it's refuge from the world was something easily grown dependant on - as he knew all too well._

Please? I so enjoy your company and you still have tidying to be done and we can make music and –

 _Eric clenched his jaw, hating himself for what he had to do. Holding up a hand to silence her, her hardened his heart for what would come._

Enough. You cannot stay. It is inappropriate and you cannot use me to hide from your troubles. Go, speak to your managers, speak to your ex-fiance, spend time with Meg, practice your music – go and live your life away from my darkness and misery.

 _He may as well have hit her in the face with a wet fish. The shock that registered in her eyes, her half open mouth – ready to protest? – was palpable. Lest he change his mind, Eric turned and ambled towards a random direction of the room, looking to busy himself. Movement behind him –_ Argh!

 _Hands were on him, he fought them, pushed them off, but he was spun around and something soft was crushed upon his lips._

 _A kiss_

Christine

 _His lips were softer than she had imagined, not leathery at all. The mask pressed against her face a little but she ignored it, feeling nothing but the sensation of his lips on hers and the butterflies that had burst into being in her stomach. Afraid she had upset him, she pulled away._

Forgive me, I –

 _He crushed his lips to hers once more, his hands roaming her back, soothing and exciting her simultaneously._

 _Then he pulled away and straightened his mask._

This changes nothing Christine. I will always love you, but I am not good for you. Go above and sort out the mess you have left behind.

 _He kissed her forehead, like she was a child, and walked away to another chamber. She sat a while, processing. He was right. She had left a mess above – leaving her job with no explanation, leaving Raoul basically the same way. She had to show her phantom that she was not a child but a woman, and then he would take her love seriously._

I'm going now _she announced to no-one in particular and started the journey back, a little unsure of what she would find considering her journey here. However, the phantom must have tidied up while she slept as the passage was clear of bodies and so on, the traps were disabled, and torches lit themselves periodically to show her the way._

 _Later, her managers shook their heads._

'I'm sorry Miss Dae, but we cannot give you lead roles in operas if you keep disappearing with no trace. And to hear you have decided not to marry our patron, the Vicomte, is disappointing news indeed' _Moncharmin's grave tone did nothing to help Christine's mood._

'I understand that Monsieur, my visit was simply to inform you of my return and to say I will continue in my role as understudy to Carlotta and in the ballet. Good day' _and without waiting for a response, she turned, her skirts whirling about her, and she walked away._

 _Feeling triumphant, Christine mentally took that task off her list. The next was one she had been dreading – Raoul._

 _However, as she began to form ideas of what she would say, who should she walk straight into at a flying speed, but her fiancé._

 _'_ Christine!' _he blurted out, then coughed surreptitiously. Of course he was not ill. It had been a childish ploy to take her out of hiding before she was ready._

 _'_ we need to talk Raoul'

 _'_ if this is to inform me that the engagement is off then there is really no need' _he said formally, staring at a space on the floor next to her shoes._

'You do not wish to know why?' _His behaviour towards her made Christine wonder what she had ever seen in the man._

'You have made up your mind so there is no point. I wish you every happiness'. _His closing remark was entirely insincere but Christine was at least grateful that the awkward encounter was over, although it stung that he clearly didn't care for her enough to enquire as to why she could no longer marry him._

 _Unsure as to whether that qualified as a completed task, Christine mentally ticked it off her list anyway. Now, to go to ballet practice and appear to resume her life. But one day soon, she would slip down to the Phantom's chambers below and show him the strong woman she had become without him…_

BACKSTAGE AT BALLET PRACTICE

'just look at her, thinking she is so perfect' 'her ballet is terrible, why does she get the first dancer's spot' 'Madame Cherie favours her more than her own daughter, is she secretly rich?' 'we have to do something, I'm sick of being in her limelight'.

'Do I 'ear someone wanting rid of our dear Christine?' An unmistakable Italian accent rang through the others, sending them scattering.

'I would be 'appy to teach 'er a lesson or two. I know just the man. Who will 'elp me get rid of the toad?'

'I will'. Second dancer, Bellinda stepped forward. _That wench was going to pay for the way she had treated Raoul. She didn't deserve him. She was going to pay._

To be continued…


	6. Chapter 6

**AN ok you guys, I don't know if any of you know Post Modern Jukebox (find them on youtube they do vintage jazzy style covers of popular songs and they are incredible) and their founder Scott Bradlee is live via webcam to thousands of people as im writing this, he's just jamming on the piano taking requests and so far he has done four of mine! (anyone who was watching I requested Roxanne in 1950's style) What a feeling! Anyway, back to the story. Y'all feeling the plot-related tension? Hope so…**

 _Raoul smiled endearingly as Bellinda regaled him with her day's activities. She was pretty enough, with black hair and brown eyes, a pointed, young face and a tinkly laugh that reminded him of the peal of a bell. They had been meeting to eat dinner every night since Christine had left him and Raoul felt as though things were looking up. The Chagny family, whilst not pleased she was also a member of the dancing troupe, were at least more satisfied with her than they had been with Christine._ 'Bellinda is so charming Raoul, and that is important in our social circles. Christine may have sung like an angel but her shyness crippled her to the point of embarrassment' they had said.

 _She also had a pleasing body – not that she had yielded to him yet, nor did he expect her to any time soon if they were to proceed down the path Raoul had in mind. She would make a good wife, and love would come in time._

 _'_ Raoul?' _A familiar voice came from behind him in the café-bakery they were eating at._

 _And there she was. Christine. Her hair was up off her neck, unusually for her. The phantoms bruises were gone from that night when everything had changed. Of course they were gone, it had been over two weeks now._

'Christine. I see you are in good health'.

 _She nodded but her face was visibly crumpling. She was obviously upset to see him out with a woman – and Bellinda was generally not popular among the dancers, although why that could be baffled him. She was so beautiful._

'I am. I see you are also enjoying yourself. Please excuse me, I just came to pick up some bread' _and with that she walked past him to the counter, picking up a warm loaf wrapped up in brown paper that they had ready for her. The phantom had her running errands, Raoul supposed. The thought disturbed him that she kept his company still, but she was a stubborn woman and he had no right to make her keep only what company pleased him. Not anymore._

Christine

 _It pained her to see him, not with another woman, but just to see him. He looked the same as ever. The same as when they were together. She knew she had made the right decision – for both of them, but for him to have moved along so quickly as though she meant nothing had caught her off guard, wedging a sharp shard of pain in her heart that would take time to shift._

 _Hopefully the phantom would be pleased with the bread she had got for them. She had not seen him since that ill-fated kiss and hoped that bringing him some small token would make his less angry at her presence in his sanctuary._

 _Walking back from the bakery/café, Christine paid little attention to where she was going and almost got run over by a coach. Thankfully, it only splashed her from a puddle a little and she carried on her way into the Opera house and down the same winding route she had used that night, when it had been littered with bodies._

 _But that was not what occupied her mind as she made her way down. Raoul laughing and smiling at that horrible ballet rat was etched into her memory and try as she might, it upset her that she meant too little for him to at least wait before stepping out with another woman._

 _But the matter at hand was reconciling with her phantom. Though she had Meg, there was no one who made her laugh, showed such concern for her, helped her know her own mind and feel confident. He made her feel like a woman, and made her want to be a better one._

 _And Christine hoped that he saw something in her. Otherwise he would not have taught her from childhood. But his mood swings did scare her, and the rational part of her reminded her of the newly faded bruises that his hands had placed there._

'Christine?'

 _She turned, and there he was._

 _Eric_

 _A new stage hand had been hired following the mysterious death of Buquet. Eric couldn't say that he felt a shred of remorse for the death of that perverted, disgusting man. Too many times he had caught him leering at-_

 _'_ Christine'. _Good god in heaven what on earth was she doing here?!_

 _'_ I thought I made myself clear. You are not to come down here to me anymore. You are a child and this cannot continue'.

 _Instead of pouting or crying as he expected, she simply walked towards him and handed him a warm brown-paper bundle._

'I brought you some bread. I was hoping we could talk. I care about you and I thought it must be lonely down here. But if my presence makes you uncomfortable, then I will leave'. _She turned to go, her skirts trailing behind her. She was not pretending, she truly began walking back up the slope to the route into her dressing room. Where she had crawled through dead men's blood to ensure his welfare. Eric felt shame creeping into him. He was making her suffer simply because he doubted his control around her. But this was a friendship neither of them could afford to lose._

 _'_ Christine, wait. I apologise for being so unwelcoming. Please stay and have some of this lovely fresh bread with me. I have some cheese and apples too I think'. _He gestured for her to come to him so they could go to the kitchen. Once there, he removed her cloak for her, accidently brushing his fingers against her delectable shoulder. His fingers tingled from the contact but he ignored it, hanging up the cloak to dry._

'Your cloak is wet but your hair is dry so it is not raining. You should be careful when crossing, Christine'.

 _Once out of his mouth, the words sounded crueller than he had meant. Considering they had been separated because he had told her she was childish, he shouldn't have opened their peace meeting with a jibe, however caring it was intended._

'I was distracted by something I saw in the bakery. I am usually very careful, Eric' _she retorted. Where had this new backbone come from?_

 _'_ Of course, forgive me. I hope you are not upset by whatever it was you saw?'

 _'_ It has no matter now. Please tell me, have you made any new compositions?'

 _They went on this way exchanging pleasantries until they had eaten their fill of the food and each other's capacity for small talk._

 _Christine sighed audibly, her eyes fixing on the fireplace, as they had now moved to the main room._

 _'_ I wish you would tell me what is wrong Christine. It pains me for us to be so formal, and you so distant'.

 _She took her time, first staring into his eyes before she spoke._

'You mean you wish to know what has upset me today, or why I take more care over what I say to you now?

 _Eric sighed and moved to sit next to her on the chaise lounge. She didn't flinch at his proximity so she couldn't be disgusted with him in some way. And she had kissed him, so tenderly last time they had met._

 _Moving a stray lock of hair from her face, Eric wondered how he could stay away from those eyes that spoke to him._

 _'_ Both. I want to hear your pains and share your joy and be your friend Christine. I have known you since your childhood and I cannot discard you, much as I believe it would be good for you'.

'This is our problem. Do not insist that you know what is good for me. You may have watched me from childhood but I am a woman now and I must make my own decisions, deal with my own problems. I can remind myself to wear a wrapper when it is cold and to look when crossing the street. I do not need you like I needed you as I child. I want you in my life as an adult wishes to be in the company of another; so do not endeavour to push me away like you did when we both know that it is what neither of us wants'.

 _Eric let out a breath that he had not realised he was holding. She made an impressive speech. And she was not wrong. But how could he tell her that yes, once he babied her like a child, but now his suggestions – like wearing a proper coat – were as a husband to a wife. He wished her to be well because he loved her._

'Christine…I cannot explain why I try to take care of you so but if it upsets you I will refrain from it in the future. I'm sorry that I doubted your capabilities as a woman, it was rude of me but you are very young still and I care too much about you to see you catch cold or –'

'Let me catch cold one time at least. And then I will learn. Some lessons can only be learned from experience.'

 _Eric took her hand and nodded._

'You have been thinking about this a lot, haven't you?' _He mused, pressing the back of her hand to his lips, almost unconsciously. She nodded, sighing as though a large weight had been lifted from her._

'Now please tell me what you saw today that has distressed you so, my love'.

 _She frowned, a small crease appearing between her heavy brows._

'Not distressed exactly, but it has made me feel that I overestimate someone's feelings for me'. _What on earth was she talking about…ah. She had spotted Raoul and that ballet girl – the meanest one of all of those he could have chosen, of course._

'I suppose you already know, don't you? About Raoul and Bellinda?' _She could see it in his face._

'yes. I'm sorry. If it improves your outlook on their affair, the family put him under a lot of pressure to replace you. But he does seem very taken with her, not that she holds a candle to your beauty- ah'. _His words were cut off when she lunged for him, grabbing his shirt collars and pressing her lips to his own. Flames of desire reared in him, but he pushed her away, taking her hands in his so that she would not feel the sting of rejection twice in one day._

'Christine' _he said gently. She took her hands from him and started looking for her wrapper._

'It is late. I should be going home. I apologise for forcing myself on you' _This was said stiffly, without looking in his direction. He had hurt her!_

'Nono, you misunderstand. Believe me when I say that I desire your sweet attentions like nothing else on this earth. But you must understand that I doubt your intentions. We are not married, so this cannot go much further without being highly improper and ruinous and –'

'just say it Eric' _she spat._

'I don't want to be kissed because you are upset with Raoul. I cannot bear it'.

 _And, at his harsh words, she silently got up and left, slyly pushing over a tiffany lamp from his desk as she went, not looking back at him nor the mess she had created._

 _And for the second time, Eric watched his beloved and wondered if she would come back._


	7. Chapter 7

Hello to new followers BellaMiliienium and Trs157! And welcome back to those who have been around a while. Hope you're all keeping well. I'm sorry this hasn't been updated in a while – had lots going on. I've kind of planned out a bit more where I want this to be going so hopefully it will take a clearer direction. Anyway, on with the story! Reviews appreciated as always.

BACKSTAGE

"So it is all ready then?" _Bellinda asked the Italian. Carlotta nodded._

"Yes. Everyting is-a ready. It will look accidental. She may not die but ezer way – her career will be over".

"So long as our opera ghost doesn't interfere" _Bellinda mused, thoughtfully pressing a finger into her chin._

"We can distract 'im on ze other side of de opera house easily". _The two nodded; an understanding formed between them._

Christine

 _Christine was putting her hair up, sat in her dressing room, which she had been allowed to keep despite not playing the main role tonight (Carlotta had been given that honour) due to the fact that all her possessions were in there and it would have taken a long time to move them out. Though she suspected the phantom had had something to do with it too. What else did he do for her without her knowledge? The thought made her a little uncomfortable as she realised just how helpless she would have been without him as a child._

 _In a way, she was glad she would not be singing tonight as so many lead roles had meant her ballet was not as polished as it should have been and the other dancers were probably not pleased she held the top spot in the troop still. When she was not dancing, this was a position given to Bellinda. Raoul's new fiancée. Or wife perhaps; who knew when the wedding would be or if it had already happened. Christine was certain to not be invited and she could not care less._

 _A female scream from a distant part of the opera house interrupted her thoughts. Most likely it was the stage hands messing around and scaring the dancers as usual._

 _She missed Eric. Meg had been very busy lately so Christine didn't have anyone to talk to. The other dancers hated her because she was different – her eyes were too big, her hair was always a mess, yet she was given lead roles and had the managers wrapped around her little finger, so they thought._

 _Did he think about her the same way? Did he wonder what she was doing with her day, and wonder if she was thinking about him?_

 _If this constant wondering was what it felt like to be in love then Christine wished she had never fallen for him. The relentless worrying about whether he cared for her like she did him was not a pleasant feeling, and not one she needed if her career was to get back on track. She needed to show her managers she was reliable and stop running off to see him whenever she was sad or on a whim._

 _Christine sighed, relaxing her shoulders and rolling her head around, ready for a warm up backstage. She picked up her scarf – a prop all the dancers were to use in today's performance. Hers was red silk, the others' white, marking her out as lead dancer. But the fabric somehow caught on her candelabra and pulled it over onto the floor where it immediately lit and grew to a fire the size of a large dog._

 _Christine screamed and ran for the door – it wouldn't take long for this small room to be engulfed and her along with it. The door was jammed._

 _"_ Help! Somebody help me! Fire!" she shouted at the top of her powerful singer's lungs. She could hear no footsteps outside. Christine took two steps back, then threw her weight at the door. Again and again she flung her body against it, but the wood held. She was in serious danger. Panic started to set in as she realised how hard it was to breathe now. The fire was spreading at an alarming rate, heating up the air and guzzling her possessions and furniture like a beggar wolfing down bread.

The mirror on the opposite side of the room shattered from the heat, along with the one on her dressing table, which was now falling to the floor. Its delicately carved legs could not hold its weight any longer. Christine pressed her lips to the crack of the door desperately to try to draw in clean air, pulling her skirts up so that they did not catch. Closer and closer the fire came to her, or so she thought. Sweating and shaking with fear and the heat, Christine knew she had mere seconds before she passed out and burned to death or suffocated.

Suddenly the door gave way and everything went black.

Raoul. 

_Bellinda had told him for the thousandth time that she was furious Christine had been allowed back into the dancing troop as lead dancer. Raoul said he would try to do something about it – and had remembered this on his way to the performance. Seeing as he was early, he decided to go see the managers and hope he didn't run into Christine, as her dressing room was nearby. En route, he could smell burning and heard screaming. Raoul ran towards the source, the smell getting stronger and stronger until he saw tendrils of black smoke winding their way out from under Christine's door._

Oh God no.

 _Was he too late? There was no sound from within, only – there. A small thud of a body hitting the floor._

 _He had no choice but to knock down the door and hope that she wasn't too near it as the impact would carry him a fair way into the room._

 **BANG**

 _The door gave way on his first try; not a good sign. Immediately he could see nothing but black black smoke and hear the crackling, roaring flames. Where was she?_

 _Squatting low onto the floor, where things were a little clearer, Raoul patted around to try to feel for her, but all he could feel was incredible heat. Too hot to feel pain, he knew he was burning but he had to get her out, had to save her – There!_

 _He felt her skirts, they were just about to catch, he suffocated the flames with his hands and starting to drag her away to relative safety. Something fell on him from behind and there was a flash of bright light and sudden numbess and – black._

Eric

 _Eric scowled. The scream he had heard was not Christine – just the dancers fooling around. It was best to check these things, as he would die before he let anything happen to her – but it was vexing and now he might miss the start of the performance. Wondering down a passage to box five, he barely caught the end of the announcement._

"- late due to a small fire. We are still investigating the matter but it is clear that two people have been harmed. On an unrelated note, our lead dancer will now be Bellinda Mayers. Performance will commence in half an hour and once again we apologise for the delay. In the meantime our orchestra will give you a few pieces from last week's opera. Thank you"

 _Bellinda dancing lead? The girl danced like a sack of rotten potatoes! And a small fire? What on earth was going on in this place! The Vicomte was not in his seat either. There was more to this than the managers were telling the audience – of course._

 _Something must be wrong with Christine if Bellinda is dancing lead._

Oh god no oh dear lord in heaven please, please let her be alright _Eric repeated in his head as he ran to the mirror passageway, a mantra that would do him no good. It was obviously too late to save her. Stepping over the broken glass from the mirror that concealed his private entrance to Christine's dressing room, there was nothing left but ashes and a few barely recognisable bits of furniture. A hat stand near the door, half burned, lay on the floor. There was perhaps two feet near the door that had not been consumed by the fire, which was now out save for a few small smoking bits and bobs._

 _Jumping through the ashes and exiting into the corridor, Eric strode towards the manager's office to see what he could overhear. If she was dead. He would surely know. Surely, with this burning love he had for her, he would have felt her life being extinguished as she was taken from him…_

"Burned horrifically they said. He will live but may never walk again, blind in one eye, deaf in one ear…" _Not Christine then. A man. Eric jigged impatiently outside the door._ What about Christine? Come on, come on man tell him so I can hear-

"Dae was hurt too I think but unsure how badly – her friend Meg whisked her away to see the opera ghost or some other fallacy. Absolute madness, the girl needs a doctor or she'll not dance again-"

 _Of course. Christine knew she would be best taken care of by him. She must have been so frightened – and hurt too, she would be in pain – she needed him and he was not there._

 _Eric had never run faster in his life, not for anything. Almost slipping in some parts of the eternally damp passageway back to the caves, he prayed to whatever deity may exist that Christine would be alright, that she could walk and talk and dance and sing and be his forever- yes his! If she lived through this there would be no more waiting, no more dallying around and letting her find her feet, he had to keep her safe and make sure nothing happened to her again_

"Phantom?" _Meg Giry's voice trembled in the darkness. Her eyes were unadjusted to the gloom down here but Eric could see she was supporting the form of a near unconscious Christine._

"It is me, do not worry. Give her to me". _Meg hesitated._

"What? What is it?"

"She said it hurts too much to be carried, too much touching her skin. She's burned in many places-"

"-We will use my cloak as a stretcher then". _Eric had no time to listen to Meg's lengthy explanations. Blocking out the fact that Christine was so burned she could not bear to be touched, Eric whipped off his cloak and set it on the ground, and the unlikely duo lifted Christine on by her wrists and ankles. She was barely conscious and violent coughs wracked her body._

 _"_ And lift. Here we go. It's not far now." _The phantom took the end with Christine's head, Meg her feet. Now and then he warned her of a particularly slippery bit but other than that they did not speak. All they could do was pray silently and wonder if Christine would ever be the same again._


	8. Chapter 8

I'M SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY I GOT A NEW JOB AND WENT TO CANADA

Shoutout to Grandma Paula, thanks for your second review, and Child of Music and Dreams for pointing out a small spelling error in the previous chapter (which I've fixed now)

 _Eric_

 _Christine stirred. Eric sighed a little, relieved even at this small movement. She lay in the carved swan bed that he had made for her all that time ago when everything was good and uncomplicated. He knew she was nude under the sheets, as he had instructed Meg to cover her head to toe in a special salve that would help her skin heal, but her nudity was the last thing on his mind. The burns were not serious and would likely heal apart from one or two just below her knees where the hem of her dress had caught. It had been clever of Christine to pull her dress up so there was less material to catch on fire. It had probably saved her legs. She would fully recover except some scarring._

 _But Eric couldn't help but track her every movement. He had been touching her as little as possible to prevent infection and so he worried she may have hit her head and be more injured than he could tell. So everytime she sighed in her sleep, or twitched, it was a blessing to him._

 _Her eyes flickered, then opened and it was like he had been born a new man. She was awake at last._

"Eric?" _She managed to croak before putting a hand to her throat and coughing violently._

"Shhh, do not try to talk. You breathed in a lot of smoke. Take some wine". _He held a goblet to her lips and watched her take some and swallow. Good._

 _"_ Now tell me – by nodding – are you in pain?" _It felt like a million years before she pursed her lips and then shook her head._

 _Eric was surprised._

 _"_ Are you sure?" _She closed her eyes a minute, then shook her head again. Eric put his head in his hands, exasperated._

 _"_ I will get you something. Don't move". _She really was a difficult woman to look after. But he was smiling. If she was up to her usual self-deprecating ways then her life could not be in danger._

 _Returning with some more to drink and a vial of powder to stir into it, Eric checked her hand for burns before placing it in his own._

"You have to tell me when you're in pain Christine, why would you want to suffer?" _She frowned a moment and he got the feeling she was going to say something ridiculous._

"The pain stuff you give me makes me sleepy and I want to spend time with you". _Eric could have sworn in front of a jury of his peers that his heart had skipped a beat. She would suffer through the pain to be awake with him._

 _"_ Do you remember what happened?" _He was baffled as to how such a fire could have started in such a short time. Christine nodded and watched him stir in the pain medicine._

 _"_ Alright. You can tell me in a few days. You need to rest. Drink this." _He handed it to her but it was a heavy goblet and she seemed to be struggling, so he took it back._

"I will hold it and you can tilt it and sip. I should have chosen a lighter cup for you-" _He stopped talking when she shook her head and squeezed his hand. She was telling him it was fine._

"When you have drunk this and fallen asleep again I will go above and find out what happened to whoever rescued you. Apparently they were hurt very badly and I'd like to help them."

 _Christine's eyes widened a little as she continued to sip._

"Do you know who it was? The managers said he may never walk again, has no sight in one eye and lost his hearing in one ear- Oh no, what is it? I have upset you?" _Tears were welling up in her eyes and she motioned for Eric to take the goblet from her. She pressed a bandaged hand to her face, concealing her sobs from him. He took her hand away from her face gently._

 _"_ Christine, what is it? You know who he was? It is someone you care for?"

 _She nodded and spoke three words that both enraged and chilled him._

 _"_ It was Raoul".

Eric

 _As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Christine fell asleep. Panic washed over him for a moment until he checked for a heartbeat and placed a hand above her mouth to feel her warm breath. She was safe. Thanks to that fop…Pushing the thought away, Eric cast his eyes around the room and realised how tired he was. Staying up all night to make sure Christine was alright, whilst trying to keep Meg calm and replacing Christine's bandages. All he wanted was to sleep. But how could he? Everything was so different now. She wasn't a child anymore, but a woman. And she was going to be in pain for a long time after what had now happened to Raoul. Eric knew her, he knew that she would take to heart that Raoul got hurt saving her life and no matter what she said, there were naturally still feelings between them, at least on her side._

 _Christine stirred a little; he moved a piece of hair away from her face and watched her frown disappear at his touch. She was so beautiful this way. It pained him to know that when she woke, nothing would be the same. Ghosting a soft kiss on her cheek, Eric stood and stretched. No time for sleep. He would have to do the right thing and see what he could do for Raoul. He had in his possession rare salves and the like from Persia that could help possibly. Though there was a limit to what medicine could do- Raoul would never be the same again._


	9. Chapter 9

AN **decided to do away with this italic font nonsense. Will go back and fix previous perhaps. Enjoy this latest instalment. Would love to hear what you all think! Trin x**

The passageway dripped in its familiar, monotonous rhythm as he ascended to the opera house. It was lucky that there was no more damage than just Christine's room. But how on earth had it caught light so quickly? Just one of those things he supposed. Pushing the thought from his head, he concentrated on being soundless as he crept along a passageway in a cavity in the wall behind Madame Giry's office. Stepping out from behind a panel in the wall covered by a painting of a large bouquet of flowers, he startled the older lady _._

 _"_ Eric. What can I do for you? I trust Christine is healing well under your care". Her stony gaze indicated she was not pleased that Christine had been left with him, but she didn't comment further. She knew it was in Christine's interests to be with him right now, seeing as his skill exceeded that of any physician in the country.

"I want to visit the fop. Raoul. Can you tell me where he is?"

"Why do you want to see him? To gloat?" Giry held a low opinion of his honour. This enraged him.

"Why do you think that I wish him harm!? I want to help!" With a grunt he swiped the contents of her desk onto the floor – including a very pretty tiffany lamp and a picture of her late husband. Giry didn't even blink.

"The man may never walk again, the last thing he wants to see is the man who took his bride from him-"

"I did not take her. She was never his in the first place. I resent you making me out to be a thief of some sort!"

"Resent it all you like, that is what I believe. I will take you, but you're not going alone. I'll accompany you".

'If you wish to waste your time following an innocent man on his heartfelt errand then that is your issue. Let us go at your earliest convenience' he snarled. Giry raised a brow, collected her wrap in customary black, and motioned for him to lead her out the door to a carriage.

The ride to the royal infirmary was fairly brief, and much of it passed in silence, excluding the driver's remarks on the weather.

Giving the talkative driver a generous tip, the two unlikely companions stepped down onto the damp cobble stones, and began to climb the steps of the hospital building.

'You cannot fix this you know. He is forever changed'. Giry did not look at him, but focused her eyes on her feet.

'I know that. I can't bring back eyes from the dead. But I have to try. For her. She loves him'.

'That is…' Giry trailed off thoughtfully.

'Foolish?' Eric supplied.

'No…it is noble. To help him despite what he is to you'. Eric paused. He had not thought about Raoul as anything to him.

'What is he to me in your eyes, Madame Giry?' His use of her title warned her to err on the side of caution. This was not a subject to be discussed much further.

'Your rival of course. The two of you have a long journey ahead of you'.

She was not wrong.

Raoul

It had been two days, judging by the regular bowls of mysterious slop he was being brought. A nurse would have to help him out of bed into a wheeled chair to the lavatory soon. He slept sometimes.

A vicomte reduced to mere functions. Or less than functions. No function in one eye, nor one ear. Burnt legs that would be lost if infection took hold. Swathes of bandages were all that held him together. No one had told him anything about Christine, nor had Bellinda come to visit. A bunch of flowers from the opera house managers mocked him on the bedside table – placed carelessly on the side of him that had been blinded. A bitter smile twisted his lips. Such cruel irony.

A familiar dashing figure in an expensive looking cloak appeared at the end of the hall, followed by the unmistakeable, willowy form of Madame Giry. What on earth would the phantom be doing visiting him?!

It was not a long hallway, but they arrived after what seemed like a painfully long time.

The two of them stood at the end of his bed, and did not speak.

'Well?' Raoul rasped.

'I wanted to see what I could do for you. I am a skilled healer.' Madame Giry nodded, knowing that Raoul would doubt this statement without her confirmation.

'I do not want nor need your pity, phantom'. There was nothing to be done. Nothing could bring back an eye, an ear, the use of his legs.

'I do not do this for you' the phantom hissed. His short temper had not changed since there last meeting then. Was Christine safe with him, especially in her weakened state? Would she be able to resist his advances?

'Will she live?' Raoul avoided the Phantom's eerie, dead gaze. He wondered if that is what he looked like now, under all the bandages.

'Yes. Thanks to you'. They held each other's gaze, testing who would break away first. After a lengthy minute, Raoul did.

'It is thoughtful of you to attempt to aid someone she cares for. But there is nothing you can do for me-'

'You are wrong. I cannot save what has been lost, but I could save you from losing more. I assume you want to walk again?' Raoul said nothing. He was a shell of a man now. He did not want to be pitied, treated like an invalid, a weakling.

'You want to walk again with your pretty woman, to please your family, you want to be able to do whatever it is foppish men like you do in the bedroom, or in the alleyway-'

'Enough!' Madame Giry barked. Her words were like a verbal slap on both the men's faces. They had forgotten they were there, lost in the intensity of each other's stare.

'Make your offer, and then we will leave, phantom' she stated plainly. 'There is enough pain here'.

Raoul avoided her gaze. She meant him; she knew he was suffering. Perhaps, deep down, the phantom did too. Perhaps he enjoyed that he was now at his level, a deformed, disgusting creature, a bag of bones and melted flesh. An even playing field for Christine to chose - though of course, she had chosen already in leaving him and going back to that…beast.

The phantom gazed at the ceiling a moment, and then spoke, in low tones. Raoul had to half read his twisted lips to hear.

'You will inform the hospital that the De Chagny family have found you a private physician, superior to them in skill. You will come with us to my home, where you will stay whilst I ensure infection does not occur, and reduce some of the scarring. When you are stronger, you will leave, on your own two feet, or I have failed her'.

'She does not want me. You are wasting your time'. Raoul turned his head away, exhausted by the whole conversation and whatever he had been given by the hospital.

'She cried for you. She fears losing you'. The phantom forced the words out, through clenched teeth. If his fists were in Raoul's now-smaller eye line, he imagined that they would be clenched too.

So Christine had shed tears for him. He was pitiable now, that was indubitable. But she still cared for him, a small part of her at least. And she was in the caves, where the phantom was going to take him. He would be near her. She could help him feel whole again.

'Fine. When do we leave?'


	10. Chapter 10

AN **decided to do away with this italic font nonsense. Lots of reviewers have been mentioning over the course of the story that Eric is spelled with a 'K' in the original – I am aware of this. I like to spell it with a 'C' as I think it looks softer. Enjoy this latest instalment.**

 **Special thanks to Theatrephantom24601 for a kind review.**

 **Trin x**

Christine woke in what she had been instructed to call 'her' bed. It was warm and comfortable, with downy pillows and blankets. But today it was cold, and she was hungry. Her legs hurt to move, but she could move them. The burns would heal, and she would dance again. Her throat hurt, but she could sing. She would sing again. So why did she feel so empty inside? She should be grateful for what she had. But all she could think about was what she might have lost. What Raoul **had** lost for her. And how she had pushed him away.

Sighing in anguish, Christine rolled over slowly, still half asleep, but awake enough to worry. She buried her face in the soft pillows and wondered when her phantom would be back to play to her. She missed him when he was not there, and wondered what this could mean. Did she want for her and Eric what she had once wanted for her and Raoul?

A small noise in the lounge told her that her phantom was home. Christine decided to show him how strong she was feeling today and get out of bed and walk all the way to the lounge, unaided. She had only a silk nightdress on, appropriate for being in bed or having salves applied to her burns, which were bandaged up to just above the knee, and on her hands. The nearest appropriate covering was a robe, much too big for her, made of some kind of thick, soft fabric that engulfed her in warmth. It smelled like him too, which brought her comfort.

Supporting herself on various items of furniture about the room, Christine stumbled to the door with clumsy, stiff steps. Being in bed for so many days had weakened her, along with drugs for the pain and low spirits. Raoul had been irreparably damaged and that would forever be on her. She had left him for another man, when perhaps he had cared for her more than she had thought. But then he had fraternised with that ballet rat…but he had saved her - he still cared a small degree despite what had passed between them. But most men would save any woman from a fire.

Pushing the negative thoughts away, Christine opened the door and began walking towards the open lounge area near the lake, a smile that was not quite genuine fixed on her porcelain face.

'Christine, you should not be up, nor so poorly dressed'. The reproach from him came as she expected, but his tone was harsher than she had expected, and strained. He was lifting a man with bandages on his face, and this man appeared to be grimacing in pain.

'Do not let her see me' the man murmured. Christine knew the voice, but its tones were so hushed and strained that she could not quite place them.

'I will return to you shortly Christine, I must first settle our guest in the other room. Please return to bed'. There was something not right here. Eric sounded so tightly wound, as though he were upset with her for some reason, though what on earth she could have done by simply staying in bed in his lair as he claimed to have dreamed she would all that time ago, she could not imagine.

'Now, Christine' he hissed at her. Actually hissed!

'I do not know what on earth has gotten in to you but kindly do not take it out on me!' She exclaimed. She shut the door painfully and hobbled back to bed, her dignity somewhat marred by the slowness of her pace.

Meanwhile, the phantom stared at the shut door, a frown affixed on his scarred face. In trying to keep Christine happy by healing Raoul, and Raoul tolerably happy by hiding him from Christine, he was getting tangled in too many webs. He did not like it at all.

However, his heart bloomed with happiness again when he realised that, with Raoul asleep in his own coffin in the other room, Eric would have to sleep in Christine's room on a chair. To be near her brought him great joy, and soon they would make music again like before. Soon.

Raoul

Christine was only next door. He could go and see her when he could stand. He could visit her at night, whisper sweet nothings to her, take her away from this place like she wanted before. She had surely only gone back to her phantom because she had been scared of what lay in store with Raoul - a life as the Vicomte's wife, an ornament. A mother, he hoped, too. She would have to give up her music, her home, her friends. Everything she had ever known. She had taken the easy choice - and now that he was so hurt, the phantom was an even easier choice. But seeing as she seemed to prefer her men scarred and vulnerable, perhaps now his chances were better than ever. Perhaps now she would love him as she had never loved him before.

They would not have to attend so many social functions, because he was wounded. He could do as he pleased, he could stay in bed all day after having drunk too much wine the night and no one would bat an eyelid. _Oh, the poor fellow, the fire, you know._

A bitter laugh that turned into a sob escaped him. There was no true upside to this. The eye was gone. He would get up at dawn and run for miles everyday if it meant he was assured of keeping his legs. Life was too precious to be wasted on chorus girls with nice bosoms. Now was the time to settle down and start the life he wanted, with Christine at his side. So he would bide his time, let himself be healed by the enemy, with his angel next door. And then he would claim her.


End file.
